


Penance

by fera_festiva



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fera_festiva/pseuds/fera_festiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty feels very at home with his fingers twisted into Jack's hair and his dick bumping the back of Jack's throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story with exploration of consensual D/s themes and dynamics, which you may view either as a warning or a promise.
> 
> A huge thank you to my dear [Lefaym](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym) for the initial demand that I write porn, followed by the kickass beta and general cheerleading.

Bitty is surprised how he's taken to this. Jack hinted and was unusually coy before finally admitting to what he wanted. Bitty might not have considered it, without that request, but now that it's something they do he feels really very at home, with his fingers twisted into Jack's hair, and his dick bumping the back of Jack's throat. 

Jack’s hands are behind his back. They are tied, not especially tightly, with a ribbon. Jack could easily break the ribbon, or wriggle his hands out, but that’s not the point, and they both know it. Jack will be good and stay where he is. If the ribbon falls, if he loses his balance, then there will be consequences, which have already been agreed upon. 

Jack is a contradiction: private as hell and filthy, stoic but sweet. A public figure, a celebrity, a dirty little secret. A hidden treasure. A prize. 

Before, before this, Jack could be loud, a little crass even, when he talked about the girls he slept with, or claimed to have. This is different. That's practical, of course, and they've talked through every permutation of what might happen if and when Jack ever decides to come out, and all the rest of it. But it’s not only pragmatic. 

Bitty is a contradiction too: he wants to carry this to the grave, and to sing it from the rooftops. 

He threads his hands through Jack's hair, petting and guiding and holding on all at once. 

Jack takes choking on dick as seriously as any work he ever does. His breathing is measured, in rhythm. His eyes are half-closed with arousal and concentration. Bitty’s hands are in Jack’s hair, pulling gently, holding on. He doesn’t need to force it, though, because Jack is so good and perfect, and he gives himself so freely, taking Bitty’s cock in his throat like a champion.

“Yes… good,” Bitty whispers. “That’s so good, Jack.”

Jack opens his mouth just a little wider, then, takes Bitty’s cock further in, pushing further and losing rhythm -- and he gags.

Bitty pulls away. Jack suppresses a whimper. A strand of saliva, thick and a little disgusting, hangs between his slack open mouth and the tip of Bitty's cock. 

Bitty slaps Jack, hard, across the face. 

But instantly he cradles Jack's face in that same hand, a thumb playing across one cheekbone, holding Jack up a little too, helping him right himself, and his voice and his hands are all kindness.

"Try again, honey," he says, gentle but firm, and sweeter than sugar. He strokes Jack’s face, tilts his chin up, looks Jack in the eye. “You can do it. I know you can. You’re so good, and you’ve worked so hard. Can you be good for me?”

Jack nods, breathing slowly through his nose. He finds his lost balance, opens his mouth again, lets Bitty push inside. 

“Ah -- good,” Bitty murmurs, letting his own eyes close. “You're taking me so well.”

Bitty is still self-conscious about saying the words; a southern upbringing has left him a little uncomfortable with being so direct. And at first, he privately admits, he felt a little silly about bossing around a guy twice his size and several years older. But strangely, Bitty loves it, way more than he could have anticipated. 

Here, he is strong, and in charge, and Jack takes his every word seriously and does what he’s told, and if he doesn’t Bitty gets to make him (though, in reality, Jack is so obedient and giving that he rarely needs to), and he fucking loves it.

And, honestly, before -- when Jack was an unattainable straight boy -- Bitty would never have imagined this could happen, not this way. In his darker moments he imagined himself begging, pleading to be allowed to touch Jack just once (though he’d never have done it; he’s got his pride). And then to find out that Jack not only wanted him, but wanted to be on his knees, worshipping his cock and swallowing him down, desperate to please, to earn praise, to be perfect for Bitty -- 

Bitty pushes Jack’s hair out of his eyes and thrusts harder, faster, into his throat. Jack’s eyes are closed in concentration, but he breathes through his nose, takes it well. His mouth, and Bitty’s cock as it slides, are slick with saliva.

And Bitty understands, anyway: Jack needs this. It took him a while to ask for it, and even longer to explain why it felt good, and it took both of them a while to talk about it without blushing, descending into awkward chirping, or getting overexcited and making out. But eventually he explained it: sometimes everything is too much and he needs to have all responsibility taken away from him and placed in someone else's hands. Hinting, being indirect, even just the way people talk to each other normally -- that can be confusing, overwhelming even, for Jack. 

Jack, Bitty knows, has spent his whole life under expectation. There are so many different versions of him, all of them in thrall or debt to one thing or another, and Bitty knows Jack finds it difficult to untangle them sometimes, to figure out which path to take, who to please, how to be him. Here he knows what to do, and what happens if he gets it wrong, and best of all, when he gets it right. 

Here and now, Jack knows exactly what is expected of him: to take Bitty’s cock into his mouth, into his throat, as deep as it will go, and not gag, and not lose his balance or use his hands, and not complain, and bring pleasure; and he knows exactly what will happen if he does not achieve this, because they talked about that too (he will be slapped, or spanked, and ultimately, the worse punishment of all, he will not be allowed to come). 

“It's… I know I've done wrong,” Jack had tried to explain, before. “So it helps to be punished.”

“But I'm not mad at you,” Bitty had said. “Or, you know. Disappointed even. I’m proud of you,” and he noticed how Jack took a sharp breath in at that, and he’d filed that away for later (and, now, in this moment with Jack taking his cock deeply into his throat, he murmurs, “Yes, sweetheart, you are so good for me,” and watches as Jack’s cock twitches). “I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong. And I wouldn’t want to… hurt you, if you had.”

They got there in the end, though.

It varies, of course; the specific setup isn’t fixed. There was that time he’d put Jack over his lap, head held down and ass up, and spanked him. Jack was feeling low after a really crappy day, with a practice that hadn’t gone well and a salty anonymous blog post about a recent game and a whole heap of other kicks in the teeth. So Bitty had taken care of him. 

He’d made Jack count each slap out loud, but not let him make any other noise, and in between slaps he talked about why the spanking was necessary, why Jack deserved it. Bitty had been able to feel Jack getting harder and harder against him as he spoke. 

(He’d love to repeat the scenario with Jack blowing him, his head in Bitty’s lap, but Jack is simply too tall for it to work. It’s a shame.) 

And then he’d fingered Jack’s ass, and didn’t let him come, even though he could feel Jack starting to thrust against him. Twice Jack made a sound -- a plaintive mewling sound, like a cat -- and Bitty started the spanking over again. And finally, finally, he’d held Jack down and fucked him hard, and as soon as he’d said, “You can speak again now, I want to hear you,” Jack had begged for it, begged to be filled up, harder, faster, until he’d come so hard and with a cry, without a hand on his dick. And they’d held each other afterwards, exchanging the littlest sweetest kisses, and Jack had looked so blissed-out and contented, all his usual hard frowns and angles smoothed out somehow. And Bitty got it. 

And now Bitty has Jack on his knees in front of him.

Tears are forming in Jack's eyes. They're from pain and pride both. 

Bitty can barely hold on. Jack’s mouth is so perfect, wet and hot, enveloping. There is the slightest graze of teeth at the base of Bitty’s dick. 

“I'm gonna come on your face, sweetheart,” Bitty says, his face in full blush now. “You want that? You want my come on you?” 

Jack hums and swallows around the head of Bitty’s cock. 

“You’re mine,” Bitty whispers. He thrusts harder, his fist tightening in Jack’s hair again. Jack’s mouth is hot and wet and overwhelmingly good, and -- fuck -- Jack’s tongue swirls around him and he almost blacks out as he pulls back and comes. Jack tries to catch Bitty’s cock as it falls from his mouth, bumping against his lips; he tilts his head back to take Bitty’s come across his face. His mouth is open, and he catches a lot of it, though some hits his cheekbones and jaw.

Jack looks a mess. His mouth is swollen and wet, his eyes are red-rimmed, the lower half of his face is slick with come and spit. There are tear tracks on his cheekbones. Bitty has never seen anything so beautiful as this boy, on his knees, ruined.

It’s a moment before Bitty is able to focus; he reaches over and gently pulls the ends of the ribbon, runs it through his hands, folding it absentmindedly. Jack's eyes are downcast; he is obedient still. His hands fall by his sides. He sits quiet and dutiful; the only movement is the rise and fall of his chest as he catches his breath, and the twitching and throbbing of his dick, rock-hard and leaking precome.

Jack's legs must be aching, Bitty knows; kneeling for so long and without hands free to lean on is brutal. Jack took it, though, and Bitty is so proud of him; he feels a swoop of love and pride and tenderness in his belly. 

He offers Jack his hand, and Jack gratefully takes it, and Bitty tugs on it and Jack is on his feet, though a little unsteady. Bitty reaches up, delicate on tiptoes; he strokes Jack's face, his hair. He kisses Jack, slow and sweet and deep, tasting himself on Jack's mouth.

"You did so well, honey," he whispers, and Jack's face is blissed-out lightness and sweetness and joy. "Are you ok?"

Jack laughs and huffs a little. "Yeah," he finds. "I'm ok, I'm good. That was good."

Then, after a silence in which Bitty pets his face and hair some more and they find their breathing again, "Thank you."

"Oh, honey," Bitty breathes, almost overwhelmed. "Hush. I loved it. You were so wonderful," and if it were possible for any more bliss to be evident on Jack's face, well, there it is. 

They breathe together a little more. 

“I didn’t hit you too hard?” Bitty asks. As much as he loves it -- they both love it -- he still can’t shake off that feeling of guilt at hurting Jack. Jack shakes his head, though.

Bitty cradles Jack’s face again, stroking his cheekbones like before, but there’s nothing but tenderness in it now.

“You deserve a reward,” Bitty whispers. “Let me take care of you,” and Jack is that much taller but he’s so shy in this moment and Bitty looks him right in the eye and smiles and smiles.

They tuck into bed. Jack is still hard, and Bitty spoons him and strokes him and brings him off, slow and gentle, kissing and nuzzling at his neck, and showering him with words of praise and warmth and adoration. And after that, Jack turns over in Bitty's arms and sleeps, safe, and absolved.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [Tumblr](http://fuckyeahferafestiva.tumblr.com/); do say hello if you're so inclined.


End file.
